


Oh, You Motherf*cker

by trash_cactuar



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Blasphemy against Yoba, F/M, Farmer and Shane adopt Jas and you can't tell me otherwise, Fluff and Smut, Morning Sickness, One Shot, Pregnancy, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, Two Dorks Having Sex, choo choo, cis female farmer, shane train, so much swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 11:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14331654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_cactuar/pseuds/trash_cactuar
Summary: You have something important to tell Shane.  Too bad he's so easily distracted.





	Oh, You Motherf*cker

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something cute and fluffy and then this happened instead. Yoba save us all.
> 
> That said, this was actually a fun one to write! There can never be enough Shane OR reader insert fic in the world. Please enjoy :)

“Thanks again for the call, Doctor. We really appreciate it,” you say with a smile as you hang up the phone. You were pretty sure the test you took at home was accurate, but it feels good to know without a doubt. All that's left now is to share the good news. There's a skip in your step as you make your way back to the kitchen, and you throw your arms around your husband's neck and breathe in the scent of his cheap (stolen) Joja Brand shampoo before settling in next to him at the table.

Shane doesn't look up from his breakfast of last night's leftover pizza. “Somebody's awful fuckin' chipper for this early in the day,” he grumbles.

“Ok, first of all, it's noon. Second of all, I know Jas is at Marnie's for the day, but you need to watch your filthy fuckin' mouth, mister.”

He lets out a little “hmph” but your good mood is infectious and he's already caught it. “Saved you a slice, babe. Want me to heat it up for you, or is it ok cold?”

The thought of pizza makes you gag a little, but you swallow it back and put on your best smile. “I already had breakfast not too long ago, so it's all yours. Thanks for thinking of me though,” you say, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Suit yourself. Don't come crying to me when we run out of these, Mrs. I-ran-my-husband's-shitty-job-slash-sorta-free-pizza-hookup-out-of-town.” He wolfs down what would have been your slice with impressive, if disgusting, speed. “So what was that phone call about anyway?”

“Oh, that? Just got some confirmation, that's all.” You run your fingers up his arm, and give him a playful boop on the nose. “I can now say with one hundred percent certainty that your dick works.”

He catches your wrist and flashes that wicked smirk of his. “Didn't need to take a phone call for that one, just ask me sometime. In fact,” he purrs, “lemme show you right now.” Before you know it he's lifted you onto his lap, running kisses down your neck and snaking a hand up under your shirt. “You're so damn beautiful. Do you even know what you do to me?”

“Careful with the tits, they're kinda sore today. And yes, I have a pretty good idea what I do to you because I can literally see your boner, husband.”

“Then let's go put it to work, wife.” Shane heaves you up over his shoulder and carries you off to the bedroom. “I'm gonna put a baby in you.”

Part of you wants to blurt it out right here and now, but this is way too funny. He still hasn't put two and two together, and you aren't about to ruin the fun by telling him. Yet. Besides, you're both focused on other things at the moment. Like getting undressed.

Shane shoves his pajama pants down with one hand and tries to peel off his shirt with the other but gets hopelessly tangled in it and falls over onto the bed. “Shit. Little help?”

Leaning over him, you take a moment to run your hands up his thighs and gently squeeze his ass. You press your lips to his collarbone and leave a trail of kisses down through the middle of his fuzzy chest and soft belly, stopping just shy of the waistband of his boxer shorts. He's wearing the ones you got him for his birthday, printed all over with little cartoon chicks, and there's a little spot of wetness at the tip of the bulging tent that you can't help but lick at. Shane groans, needy, and it's one of your favorite sounds. As tempting as it is to leave him trapped in his t-shirt and hear him gasp and moan and scream your name, you move up to free him. It takes a little maneuvering, but with some wiggling and tugging the shirt comes off and gets tossed in a corner somewhere.

“You're evil, you know that? Fuckin' tease. And you're wearing too many clothes.” He wastes no time in tearing your shirt off, and a few buttons pop free and skitter across the floor. Normally you'd be annoyed but he's already worked a hand into your pants and you can't think of anything except the way he's tracing two fingers over your mound through the fabric of your panties, already damp with your arousal. “Holy shit, you're really desperate, aren't you? Bet you can't wait to take a ride on the Shane Train.”

“Yoba's _asscrack_ , you are such a dork.”

“A _sexy_ dork. C'mon, get these pants off.” He's got his hand inside your panties now, and his middle finger dips in and out of your pussy, spreading the wetness around. You take a step back and slowly roll down your jeans, and he puts his finger into his mouth, licks it clean. “Fuck, you taste so good, babe. Yeah, lemme see you strip. Take the bra off next.” As you unhook the clasp and pull down the straps, he palms his cock through his boxers and smiles like a kid on Wintersday. Encouraged, you slide your panties down and kick them off before climbing in Shane's lap. He wraps his arms around you and buries his face between your breasts. His beard scratches a little bit, but not unpleasantly, and you rub your hands up and down his back.

“Why are you still wearing underwear?” you whisper in his ear. He scrambles to pull them off, and his cock slaps his stomach between you, eager and willing. You grab hold of it and rub the head against your entrance. “Choo-choo, motherfucker,” is all you can think to say as you slide onto him and take him to the hilt.

Shane grimaces. “Uuuughhh, that was awful. Sex canceled.” You laugh and roll your hips, and he grins and flips you both over. “Never mind, sex resumed.” He grabs your wrists in one hand and pulls them over your head, and you lock your legs around his waist and moan as he starts pounding you hard into the mattress. “Fuck, you gotta stop making that noise or I'm gonna blow, like, now,” he pants. “Say something unsexy.”

“Joja Cola, strange buns, lucky purple shorts, texts from Morris-”

“Ok, yeah, you can stop now, I'm good. Touch yourself, let me watch.” He lets go of your hands and moves your right leg over his shoulder. You let one hand drift lazily down your stomach to your clit and rub circles around your nipple with the other as he keeps pumping in and out at a steady pace. He starts babbling like always as he inches closer to orgasm, a barely coherent stream of “just like that, babe, oh fuck, you're so hot, I want you, fuck, I wanna see you come, come for me,” and you work your fingers faster to keep up. Trying to get a better angle, you lift your hips and then _wow,_ he's hitting _just_ the right spot and your whole body shudders in pleasure. It doesn't take long for Shane to finish after that; a few more frantic thrusts and a “holy fucking shit” later, he collapses on the bed next to you with a dopey smile.

As you both lay there panting, sweaty, and spent, the moment is perfect.

Until he rolls over and kisses you. On your open mouth. With his mouth that admittedly tastes a little like you, but mostly _still tastes like fucking pizza._

Oh Yoba. The vomit's not staying down this time.

It's a minor miracle that you manage to throw Shane aside and scramble to the bathroom before breakfast comes back up. With a few heaves and a flush, the ugly business is over, and you swish around a mouthful of water and spit it down the sink.

By the time you've cleaned yourself up and quieted your protesting stomach, Shane's already half-dressed and sulking. Not that you blame him; even if he didn't have a gold medal in jumping to conclusions, he tried to kiss you and you ran away to go barf. It can't have done any favors for his self-esteem. You sit down on the bed next to him and try to take his hand, but he glowers and scoots out of your reach. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Honey, I am so, so sorry.”

“Whatever. I mean, I already knew I was a shitty kisser, it's not like you could keep on faking it forever.”

“You're not a shitty kisser, it's the combo of secondhand pizza and morning sickness.”

“That's – huh?” The gears turning in his mind are practically visible. “Oh shit, that call. That my dick works.”

You smile and nod. “Yep.”

“You called me a motherfucker.”

“That too.”

“You're gonna – we're gonna –”

“Jas is going to be a big sister.”

Shane scoops you up into a bearhug. “This is awesome. Holy shit, you're awesome,” and he leans in to kiss you again but stops himself. “Right, pizza, sorry. Oh crap, we gotta tell Jas. Oh _crap,_ we gotta tell _Marnie._ ”

“Tell you what, how about you let me put some clothes on first?”

“Or. . . round two?”

You grin. “Don't push your luck, motherfucker.”

 


End file.
